Just troops: Taylor and Cleevar
by Dumblissfool
Summary: My first fanfic. Story about two brothers. Please don't be too hard on me. Please read and review, for me. Haha, for you, if you don't like me. Cheers! Some violence in it.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! I'm glad you have selected this story! It's my first time writing a fanfic, so please don't be hard on me. I welcome criticism, constructive ones. Woohoo! Yes one particular name seems a little, how should I say, unique? I hope it does not bother you all, if you really feel extremely against it, I'll take it under consideration. I hope this does not bore you, the beginning might be a little uneventful. It is a prologue, so well, read it! :) Finish it please! Do the review thing too! (Terribly sorry, incredibly new to this) Oh ya, I have no idea where's the dash button, so I used this ---. Hope it does not affect the story itself.^^ I have minimal knowledge of Warcraft, so please bear with me and feed me with your superior knowledge so I can write more accurately! Oh yes one more thing, I do not own anything except the two characters. I think. **

**Prologue**

In an inn, residing in an adequately prosperous town of Goldshire, a fireplace as bombarded with tinder. The room was gloomy and the air as cold; too cold for the man's liking. After several failed attempts to light the stubborn firewood, the logs finally began to succumb to its fiery fate. It grew from an infinitesimal glow into a magnificent light source. The interior of the room once again displayed its vibrant colors with a delicate shade of yellow. Heat from the fireplace chased the dreadful cold out of the confinement gradually, but did not deter the draught from sneaking in through the windows. The wind attacked the fire, causing it to flicker back and forth, albeit unharmed. Taylor Smith dusted his hands, surveyed his bright handiwork for the last time and sought comfort from an oaken chair. In front of him was an oaken table with a bleached cloth draped over it. A piece of paper lay peacefully atop the oaken furniture. Eyes belonging to the man on the chair began to travel to and fro, registering the point of the message imprinted. The caption read "**Enlist** now and become part of the **elite**!" The rest of the printing described exaggerated benefits and the procedure should a person be interested. Taylor could not care less for those sentences---except one. The pay seemed promising, he noted. He could do with some money; he will not survive long without a job.

Footfalls coming from the entrance of the inn disrupted Taylor's contemplation. The mind abandoned its thoughts to attend to the familiar sounds coming from the entrance. The mind was quick to conclude; it was unmistakable. He knew with absolute confidence that the footfalls came from his one and only brother, Cleevar. Yet again, after several years, at this particular time, his older brother came back to this humble little inn with ingredients and spices to satisfy the everlasting hunger of the lodgers. Cleevar, the breadwinner of the two-member family, was a foodie. He showed exceptional effort and enthusiasm towards culinary skills. His ability enabled him to excel in just about everything concerning food, which led him to the position as head chef of Goldshire inn. Fortunately for Taylor, Cleevar's wages allowed the to brothers to live with food. But only just, since Taylor was unemployed. His stomach let out a frightful growl, which snapped the younger Smith out of the trance. He had stoned at the spot for quite some time; the kitchen was already alive. He stood up with some reluctance, and made his way to the kitchen to search for food to pacify his eager stomach, leaving the letter to rest undisturbed on the oaken craftwork.

Bubbling, sizzling and spluttering sounds became more clear and significant as Taylor's legs brought him closer to the kitchen. So did the delightful yet confusing aroma that permeated the ground floor of the inn. As he descended down the stairs, he began to contemplate the consequences should he meet his older sibling. Cleevar had constantly reminded and griped about his unemployment for many months now, and it is unlikely he would stop anytime soon. He could remember his previous job like it was yesterday. Yes, he can imagine it now---he saw himself hacking away half-heartedly at the wretched boring tree which seemed exceptionally tough, not willing to go down. Yet. His cranky old boss would every now and then to check on his progress. That, and to urge him to pick up the pace or reprimand him on his attitude. Then he began to remember that fateful day; the day that marked the start of his unemployment days. He was bored witless, hacking away at the poor defenseless tree. An idea, or rather a prank, surfaced into his mind. His face brightened, stopped terrorizing the tree and its inhabitants to search for the tree he desired. He found a large tree; a tree that could well crash onto his boss's house if it were to be fallen. With some lumberjacking skills, of course. He began to plot and plan to make sure the tree hits right at onto the chimney. That should fix that obnoxious old man. There was no going back now. His mind only focused on hacking and no conscience could steer him away from his thirst for excitement. And a handful of revenge. He began hacking away like a maniac, adrenaline flowing through his arms, making each strike count. Soon he was one swipe away to achieve his absurd yet satisfying goal. At that point, the elder sibling was sprinting madly to stop his maniacal sibling from executing the final blow. The younger sibling, tugged by his brother, regained his composure and lowered his armed limb. The two Smiths then sighed with relief, relieved an impending disaster was avoided. But the tree and Taylor seemed destined to finish the deed. The younger Smith, realizing his demented acts, felt absurd and flung the damned axe in an attempt to remove his involvement in the prank. The tainted hatchet flew gracefully in the air and found itself wedged onto the trunk of the dying tree. The blow was not powerful enough to cause immediate effect, but the tree was on the verge of breaking. Catalyzed by the axe, every second was a chance for the tension to burgeon. Soon the timber gave way and slowly, but surely, crashed onto its intended target. Four eyes followed the timber as it fell, its respective bodies stood rooted to the lush green ground. The chimney was gone. The tree laid onto the cylindrical dent it made on the red-tiled roof. Debris littered the area of the incident wonderfully. The younger Smith moved closer to the damaged building, eyes transfixed upon his grim handiwork with awe and a hint of relish. The elder brother regained his senses first, tugging his sibling away from the area, hoping fervently of escaping without any witnesses. Too late it was. The owner of the building was already running towards them, shouting vile words. The two Smiths were agile than the aged man, escaping into the thick forest, however, only to delay the inevitable. Taylor could picture the next scene---his boss was flying off the handle, bellowing inconceivable words at him. The only words that Taylor understood were "You-Are-Fired!" A debt was even placed on the Smiths. His trip to memory lane was over---his stomach growled yet again, urging the younger Smith to find some edibles.

The kitchen was lukewarm. In fact, that would be an understatement. All the sizzling, spluttering and bubbling sounds seemed to have created a hypnotic symphony. People were scrambling around the kitchen floor, passing orders and food in a fantastically synchronized way. Errors did not seem to be tolerated in the kitchen; everyone was using considerable effort to keep the rhythm flowing. Faces were intense, too preoccupied by the continuous work, beads of sweat would sometimes trickle down their faces. In other words, working in the kitchen isn't easy. The kitchen seemed very much alike to a combating warship. The chefs were busy preparing the load, which were collected by others to be placed on the counter, where it would be 'fired off' by the cashier at the hungry lodgers. Every plate that reaches the counter behind the cashier is accompanied by a ding from a bell with a rope dangling down, hanged by the top corner of the opening behind the cashier. So there was a lot of dinging going on. Seeing all these people laboring away, Taylor felt a pang of guilt for his brother, but he was at the same time glad that it was not him who was working. Taylor Smith moved deeper into the kitchen, searching for a meal while avoiding interruption of the operations. At long last, he found his breakfast---but wait! The plate lay beside a familiar figure. He was pummeling a chunk of meat, tenderizing it with considerable force. It did not take Taylor long to know who it was. The plate, being near the elder Smith was probably a calculated move. The plate looked fabulous, simply mouth-watering. There was even a faint mist emitting out of the delight; it had been prepared just recently. The smell teased the nose of the younger Smith, beckoning him to savor the meal instead. He could not wait---his stomach could not endure any longer. He must have that plate! The younger Smith closed in surreptitiously, hands ready to grab the plate. Soon it was one step away to taste, no, to consume the delicious morsel-a fat succulent venison garnished with peas and diced carrots topped with thick brown sauce. Everyone was focusing on their work, including Cleevar, giving Taylor an advantage. Maybe it is possible to get the food without Cleevar noticing, Taylor mused. But his untimely stomach was there to prove him wrong by making a loud rumble. The younger Smith held his breath and crossed his fingers. But it was not enough. "Taylor, you lousy loafer. Have you found a job yet?"

That is the last time I cross my fingers, Taylor noted. It was obvious Cleevar wanted to do some more ranting, as he stood motionless, waiting for an answer. The younger Smith decided to keep mum and let his brother to continue his words.

"What part of 'I can't feed the both of us' you don't understand? Do me a favor, will you? Get a job, for Pete's sake."

Taylor could not stand his rantings, furthermore his stomach could not wait for the older Smith to finish. A unanimous decision was made in his mind. Grabbing the warm plate uncaringly, he turned a deaf ear and headed out of the kitchen to his room as if nothing happened.

"Hey I'm not done yet! Come back here!"

Before he could finish his sentence, he found himself only with people that have been with him from the start of the day. Orders were still flowing like a river, which stopped Cleevar from leaving his post. The older Smith then sought relief by channeling his anger onto the tough chunk of meat, tenderizing it with force.

Holding his meal, the younger Smith ascended the stairs, feeling guilty yet furious. Mostly furious anyway. How dare he embarrass him in front of all those people? Must he always be such a nag? Soon he was at the door of his room. Out of all things, the paper that laid peacefully on the oaken craftwork caught his attention. Its end was being teased by the draught; it flickered back and forth with the breeze and at some point it looked as though the paper itself was beckoning him.

"What am I going to do with him? Disgraceful!"

Cleevar's words were faint but not faint enough to go unnoticed by the ears of the younger Smith. The words stung him horribly and rage slowly began to build up in Taylor. That is the last straw, Taylor thought aloud. I'll show you, I'll show you all! The paper found itself within the grasps of the younger Smith's hand, its place being taken by the ceramic white plate. Determined, he headed out in a huff, only to halt half-way, returning to the abandoned meal. After my meal, Taylor muttered.

Soon only remnants consisting of peas and traces of brown sauce lay on top of the plate. Peas looked like green jewels; however does not taste as good as they look. The plate was now cold and neglected; Taylor was busy searching for the clothing he desired. According to the text on the paper, to join the ranks of Stormwind Army one must undergo a series of tests, both physical and psychological oriented at designated areas. To the younger Smith's benefit, the days of unemployment provided excellent time for keeping his body in shape. Maybe I didn't waste all those time, Taylor mused. There were several venues to take those tests; one of them was Northshire, which is, well, north of Goldshire. The moderately muscular man intended to keep his elder brother in the dark, however not indefinitely. He decided he would reveal his intentions to Cleevar at later date, after Taylor himself knew the results of his appeal. One should not count his chickens before they hatch, Taylor reminded himself. It would be humiliating for the younger Smith if the elder Smith should discover the outcome of his appeal, if it were to be undesired. He would demand Cleevar to take back his words after his triumph. The younger Smith grinned mischievously at the thought of that.

It seemed like a second ago he was in Goldshire inn with appropriate clothing---light white top, brown leather pants and boots---ready to set off. Northshire just stood a few yards away from him, so magnificent with all its splendor. The smell of the flora and fauna perfumed the area wonderfully. Behind him stood a massive wall that stretched far, merging with the two green hills that dwarf many. The wall's height was no less inferior to the outcrops. Guards were constantly around the perimeter, as though expecting invaders to arrive. In Northshire, a single infrastructure stood formidably. It seemed that the architects responsible for this marvel made significant effort for it to be as ornate and large as possible, to compensate the fact that only one was erected in Northshire. Red tiles from the roof gleamed crimson brilliantly with the morning light. It is as if every tile on the roof were carefully polished every day. Every now and then, cool breeze would greet Taylor with its delicate touch, caressing his exposed skin. The younger Smith filled his lungs with the invigorating air and exhaled. Under the blessed warm rays from the morning sun, Taylor strode into the tremendous structure, invigorated and confident, eventually to be ushered to the venue.

It was not until now that Taylor realized the considerable number of Stormwind Army personnel dispatched to this location. They seemed to be patrolling the area, keeping trouble-makers at bay. These people were coated head to toe with tough metal armor. The heavy metallic guards worn by these personnel had a silvery exterior, trimmed with gold and cyan colors that glistened in the illuminating sun. Their chest plate had an imprint that looked like a lion's head, the insignia of Stormwind. Not only are they shielded with body armor, a sheathed sword dangled from the side of their waist. The hilt was gold in color; probably made of gold itself. The sheath had intricate gold designs, beautifully crafted by skilled blacksmiths. All of these metallic apparel made them look awe-inspiring, yet at the same time, intimidating. It seemed as though an attack was imminent in Northshire. In other words, the Stormwind Army is just simply impressive. Taylor contemplated about the outcome---he saw himself in the outstanding armour, striding, displaying his authority; or even saving a damsel in distress. The younger Smith eventually found himself in a room with many young eager faces, waiting to be judged.

Group by group, Taylor was told, were escorted further into a room where equipments and examiners await a new batch of soldiers-to-be. The equipments and examiners could only facilitate eight individuals at a time, which justified the grouping. Taylor came at the right time; he was eighth in line. He was in a room with not much interest. The pillars were mildly ornate and the floor was made of marble. The room he was in as pretty much empty. It seemed they expected this room to be packed, thus it removing furniture was the sensible thing to do. He could see some portions of the marble floor to be cleaner and brighter---furniture once occupied those patches of the ground. The younger Smith stood at his spot, unmoving, waiting. Soon the enforced idleness began to invite worrying thoughts that disturbed his hapless, already anxious mind. What if I fail? Am I truly prepared? Such thoughts continued to pester Taylor's mind, causing cold sweat to trickle down his face. Not only did the cold sweat did nothing to ease his worries, it even joined those unrelenting thoughts' campaign with gusto. Before he had a chance to calm his mind, the next eight individuals were directed into the adjacent room.

The physical tests ended as fast as it started. The younger Smith was quite contented with his performance as he noticed some form of approval from the examiners. The only thing that stood in his way to employment was the physiological test. Taylor entered the next room to be welcomed by a man in uniform. The uniform had designs similar to the armor worn by the guards that patrolled this compound. Sitting on a mahogany chair, the man invited the younger Smith to sit opposite of him. A mahogany table served as a border between the two. Taylor accepted the offer, moving forward to the unoccupied dark reddish-brown chair, easing his legs. The man in uniform then picked up a brush, dabbing its furry end with the grim ink from an inkwell. A piece of paper of what looked like a report laid motionless on the reddish-brown table. As the man steadied his hand with the brush, ready to attack the report, he spoke.

"What motivated you to join the Stormwind Army?"

Words came out fast and uncaringly, and one could guess he had repeated this exact same question for the past few hours. Without hesitation, Taylor explained calmly of his unemployed status and found this job's payment to be promising. And he could serve the kingdom, too.

"Anything else you want to add?", the uniformed man probed, eyes wide with astonishment, surprised by the younger Smith's nonchalant and straightforward answer.

Taylor Smith shook his head mildly in response. That was the cue for the hand with the brush; the armed hand began attacking the report with series of minute strokes. Although the judged man was unaware, the report read: A straightforward man who minded wealth but, nonetheless honest and righteous.

That was fast. All over in an hour. For many it may seem to be a long process, however, it was incomparable to the days of unemployment Taylor had endured. The uniformed man then explained that the testimonials and results would take a few days to compile and assess, thus it was impossible to reveal the results the outcome of Taylor's appeal. It left the younger Smith with anxiety and slight disappointment, but it was expected---these appeals need careful assessments, otherwise Stormwind would have unreliable soldiers to defend itself. Traitorous aspects would arise too, so it does not make sense letting its guard down. The uniformed personnel then kindly eased his worries by stating he was one of a kind. In a complimenting way, of course. Escorted by yet another personnel of Stormwind Army, Taylor reached the entrance where he originally entered the formidable architecture. The moment he was out of the shade, he could feel the heat from the now glaring sun. From the diminished shadows and the escalated temperature, it was safe to assume it was noon. The sun glared with increasing intensity on Elwynn forest, making Taylor's journey back to the inn an uncomfortable one.

Days passed and the highly anticipated were released. The younger Smith could recall one of the Stormwind personnel mentioning that certain towns, including Goldshire, will be informed of the results. Stormwind personnel would be dispatched, albeit in smaller numbers, near inns where participants of the recruitment drive could easily obtain their respective result. There was no time to waste; a continuously elongating queue awaits him. He did not need the extra incentive though; the younger Smith's mind was persuasive enough. After wolfing down his butter toasts and scrambled eggs, Taylor hurried down the cumbersome stairs and exited the inn, his head pounding with excitement. The moment his eyes laid on the outside world, it was greeted by a sight of a crowd, well, crowding around three seated man, probably representatives of the army. A table separated the three and the burgeoning crowd. People came and integrated into the group and people left. Some left, wearing a big grin on their face, conversing animatedly with their counterparts about his or her apparent successful appeal; some left with solemn looks, backs slumped over, not wanting to speak, not even with the aid of a nudge by their friends.

He stood in front of the three uniformed men, waiting for either of their response. There was a whole lot of flipping sounds as the three searched for the right page. One of them stalled, staring intently on a piece of paper as if he struck gold.

"Taylor Smith. Am I correct?"

The younger Smith nodded in response.

"Congratulations my boy, welcome to the Stormwind Army!"

A hand shot out and Taylor was glad to oblige. He was then given a letter which contained further instructions. Just then, a loud unhappy voice ruined the moment. Almost instantly, all heads turned to face the source. It was a burly man, his head red with anger and disbelief. He bellowed words at the uniformed man attending to him. The man was getting more and more aggressive; he was using his large hairy hands to pummel the poor table now. The other two reached for their shields and weapons---but it was nowhere to be found. They had not expected any trouble whatsoever. Before anyone made a move to take control of the situation, Taylor intervened.

"Are you through? Others are waiting for their results. Kindly take yourself and your comments away"

The younger Smith spoke in a polite manner, yet at the same time mockingly. The burly man turned his attention to the speaker, his head practically fuming this time. Taylor's words stung his pride horribly and it seemed he was about to explode. The man, without warning, retorted not with words, but with a charge meant for the younger Smith. Right before he charged, the man overturned the large, heavy oaken furniture onto the three representatives of the army, immobilizing them. Taylor's mind was quick to react and so did his muscles. As the crazed man sped towards the younger Smith, his whole body tensed up to increase the impact, Taylor dodged just in the nick of time. Taylor was just inches away from colliding onto the burly man. Adrenaline was now being pumped into his body after that near miss. The younger Smith would need it. Eyes belonging to the rogue widened in surprise as the only thing that he managed to ram were the air around him. Astonishment dissipated soon, replaced by rage. The bloodthirsty man then reached for his boots, extracting two jagged daggers concealed within it. The blades glimmered under the bright sunlight, striking fear in the hearts of onlookers whom dispersed quickly to avoid involvement. The three men trapped beneath the infernal furniture still struggled, desperately trying to pry themselves out. The armor they wore proved to be a burden for the first time. Soon brave souls began to notice the three's fate and started to assist them, ignoring the danger that was present. The hell bent man once again charged towards Taylor, daggers ready to spill blood. Nearing his target, the rogue extended intending to stain it with warm blood. Taylor denied his request by dodging yet again, however, this time using his thick arm to parry the man's attacking arm, buying precious time to deliver a crushing blow onto the crazed man's chin. The rogue's head jerked back violently, his legs instinctively stepping back to maintain his balance, avoiding further punishment in the process. The burly rogue fazed by the punch, shook his head vigorously in an attempt to clear his mind and the new pounding headache. He was quick to put all of it to the back of his mind; he wanted to make the younger Smith pay dearly for his actions as fast as possible. The hell bent rogue regained his stance and once again, charged, with fire in his eyes. The armed man began executing a series of frenzied thrusts and swipes at the younger Smith when he was within range. This time Taylor could not avoid his swift attacks and suffered several cuts on his arms. Fresh warm blood oozed out from his wounds continuously, strength slowly being drained away. It was clear the mad man wanted Taylor dead now, and Taylor knew he would not last long in such a fight. The younger Smith swallowed his pride and ran to a nearby building, which happened to be a forge. Being in a building would not stop that bloodthirsty rogue, Taylor told himself sharply. Just then, he spotted wooden barrels around him. I'll have to improvise, Taylor mused.

The crazed man soon reached the entrance of the forge, determined to spill more blood. A cry was heard-it came from Taylor. He was now charging towards the armed rogue, both arms carrying large round barrel lids, acting as bucklers. The rogue heard rapid footfalls, turning to the source to see two brown, round objects speeding towards him. Dumbfounded by Taylor's unorthodox method, his mind could not register the situation and received the impending impact. The wretched man lifted off the ground slightly from the crash, finding himself soon on the coarse ground with several bruises and scratches. In a kitchen nearby, the occupiers felt a minute tremor.

Taylor prayed the mad man to stay down, but it seemed he had not tried well enough. The burly rogue sprung to his feet, ready for more punishment, be it for him or the younger Smith. The hell bent man began his offensive once more, madly stabbing and slashing at Taylor, whom blocked the attacks effectively with his duo shields. Bits of wood came out of the shields at first, but as time went by, the ferocity of the strikes increased with time, and soon chunks of wood were excavated from the wooden lids. The younger Smith could feel each strike dig deeper into the shield, nearing his arm-the shield is near its breaking-point. The sorry state of his guards forced Taylor to retreat back to the forge. The mad man knew he had the upper hand now-soon the shields would be as useful as firewood. He closed in slowly towards his prey, relishing the victorious moment. As the younger Smith retreated without breaking eye contact with his attacker, his foot struck something incredibly hard and dense. He risked a glance at the annoying obstacle. Just then, an idea hit Taylor like an anvil, literally. This might be crazy enough to work, Taylor thought. He began to position himself, grinning and hoping fervently. The younger Smith then threw his shields like a Frisbee at the rogue, enraging him.

"What? Giving up already?", Taylor taunted.

Words stung its target horribly and the rogue summoned all of his energy to charge at Taylor, his bloodied blades ready to sink into live flesh. At the last moment, Taylor gathered his strength in his legs and jumped out of harm's way, revealing a large grey anvil firmly riveted to the ground. The burly rogue saw the anvil, but was not quick enough to halt in time. His wretched legs collided painfully with the stubborn hunk of metal, causing the respective body to somersault in the air, except the fact that most people land with their limbs, while for this case the rogue landed on his body, flat on the hard, unforgiving floor. Once again, occupants of the nearby kitchen felt the tremor, this time more significant. Taylor examined his handiwork with pleasure, smirking slyly at his unfortunate attacker. The man slowly got up in intense agony, his entire body wobbling. Pain surged through his body, replacing his dissipating rage and determination. The three representatives of the Stormwind Army finally were freed from the dreaded furniture, arriving to the forge to find Taylor with injuries but still standing quite well, while the same could not be said to the rogue. At the sight of the Stormwind personnel, the rogue was quick to take to his heels. "You two. Get on your horse and subdue that trouble-maker!" The two was quick to comply. They hurried to their mounts, stabled outside of the inn. Taylor and the remaining uniformed man watched as the horses galloped past them, slowly disappearing over the horizon. Just then, a chef was seen outside of the Goldshire inn, scanning the area for the source of the tremors.

The uniformed man, probably a captain or some high-ranked personnel, turned his attention to the younger Smith. It was obvious he wanted to do some talking.

"Your bravery is admirable. So are your skills, however it needs more polishing. You will make a fine soldier, Taylor. Though you must be careful not to engage in a fight you cannot hope to win."

Standing at the entrance of the inn, Cleevar soon discovered traces of red stains on the rough ground and began to search for its source. His eyes, or rather the trail of the mysterious liquid, soon led him to his younger brother with a Stormwind Army personnel. His brother had bloody streaks on his arms-injuries no doubt, and quite bad ones. The stains on the ground probably came from him. Conclusion was made up in the older Smith's mind---all this definitely had something to do with his impulsive sibling. Without hesitation, Cleevar hurried to the two, angry and worried about his brother.

"Pardon me sir; I'm terribly sorry of what my brother had done. Please forgive-"

The uniformed man was quick cut him off and clear up the confusion.

"Him? He didn't start it?"

"For your information, I helped finish it!"

Taylor retorted. The man, yet again, was quick to explain the incident before the bickering intensified. He even mentioned about Taylor's new career in an attempt to ease the tension.

"Well, I'll have to go now. A report needs to be done and I am eager to learn the news about the rogue from my subordinates. Farewell."

The uniformed man then got on his horse stabled outside of the inn and galloped towards the mighty city of Stormwind. Taylor had an immediate liking of that man. Not many had complimented the younger Smith. The warm feeling inside Taylor soon evaporated as his brother began to break the silence.

"Well, it's good that you've found a job. Now stick with it. And don't mess up! I'm still paying repairs for your previous employer, thank you very much!"

Taylor opened his mouth, ready to retort, but no sound was heard. He'll forgive him. This time. I've got a job now, don't I, the younger Smith thought. Humans are just insatiable, he added.

**Notes from me:**

So how was it? Hope it was not as bad. Too much words? I feel the same way. For one chapter anyway. I'm don't know whether to continue, so if you want me continue, tell me! One more thing. Help me put this story into a timeslot of Wacraft. Preferably the part about Rise of the Lich King. Feed me information, I have not even read the book yet. Yes I'm bold to fit a story into an unknown domain. I play WOW, so I might have some idea how it goes. Please review. Just click on the button below and type whatever comments, please, I want to know how many actually finished this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again. Yes, I've continued and I hope you would like it. This chapter would be better than the previous one. I hope.**

**I own a computer, some money but not Warcraft.**

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That went well, Cleevar thought. He had it coming anyway, having the audacity to stroll straight up to a paladin to ask for paladin training. And expect a yes from the paladin? As if things were ever that easy. It has been a wonder that the guards of the Stormwind Keep allowed his presence; another miracle can never happen that quickly. Or can it? Even if it could, it certainly was not happening as he was already at the gate of the keep. At that point he wondered how paladins are chosen and trained. He probably would not find out anyways, and was quick to abandon those thoughts. Who am I kidding, I'm just a humble chef, he reminded himself. As if cooking is a major part of a paladin's job, he told himself. Stormwind is such a beautiful and bustling city. Too bad Cleevar had not have the mood to admire the splendid rare view that stood right before his very eyes. He always wanted to see the city life.

A shadow was gliding fast over the canals that segregated the different parts of Stormwind. It belonged to Cleevar, whose destination was Goldshire which was far for anyone whom travelled on foot. At this time he should be within the walls of the kitchen of Goldshire inn, preparing meals for the many lodgers and customers. But he had not made any meals so far today. He was not even in a kitchen. Cleevar was out in the city of Stormwind, in the trade district to be precise, rushing back to the inn, hoping in vain that somehow time would halt just for him to get back in time. His hopes soon led him back to his decision of enlisting as one of the paladins. Reviewing his past, he was soon reminded of the reason for all this nonsense. Taylor. And his career as a member of the Stormwind Army. Ever since he got his job things were beginning to look differently. For Cleevar it was downhill all the way. It turned out Taylor had finally found the right job for him and was quite devoted with it. Devoted to the extend that he managed to gain some reputation and promotion just within the year. He was even recognized as one of the best recruits of the year. Cleevar could remember vividly the grand event where numerous outstanding members were to be called up and receive a medal of some sort. Taylor was smiling gleefully while Cleevar wore a weak smile on that day. Taylor was not the best, but still one of the best. Due to his exceptional service, Taylor was now holding a considerable rank and of course considerable rank comes with considerable wage. It was this fact that miffed the older Smith. Taylor was beginning to overshadow his brother in almost all aspects---salary, reputation, you name it. As the older sibling, Cleevar felt that he should be more successful than his younger brother. Although admitted it was a selfish desire, he cannot help but follow the taboo. Cleevar was even convinced that the future would mean losing respect from his sibling. He had not had much respect from Taylor now; Cleevar could not possibly fathom the outcome should he lose more respect from Taylor. No, it must not happen, Cleevar told himself. Not on my life.

Cleevar stood near the inn of Goldshire, facing a dilemma. Enter or leave. Or maybe sneak into the building, hopefully unnoticed. The man stood at his little spot, trying and thinking with great concentration to figure out a way in. Unfortunately, so far he got nothing. Other than plainly entering the building of course. But it seemed to be the only way. The inn was practically designed to make sure visitors would definitely be seen entering by those standing behind the counter, who probably is the innkeeper. Even an experienced ninja would have difficulty penetrating into the fortress without any witnesses. Or so it seemed. Either way, since Cleevar was no ninja or some stealthy person, sneaking in is probably out of the question. But still, it does not hurt to try. Even it meant an epic failure. All this pointless plotting is getting me nowhere, Cleevar reminded himself. Each second passed could mean early retrenchment for Cleevar. Oh well, I guess that just leaves entering the inn by the main entrance. Wait, could the chimney be his alternative way? Heck no! A voice in his head cried out. Skin, bones, flesh and organs are more important! No way am I going to climb down the chimney, Cleevar told himself.

Come on Cleevar, just enter the damned building you sissy, urged his mind. The legs of the man began to move into the building after that prompt. Upon entering the inn, his eyes unwittingly looked at the direction of the counter. No one was there. Wait, am I alright, Cleevar asked. No innkeeper would do that. Cleevar sighed in relief, there was not much customers right now. And the innkeeper is nowhere in sight! Must have gone up to take a break, Cleevar assured himself. But he should not leave it empty like that, it would be the case for the authorities if people could not control themselves. Oh well, glad I'm just the cook, ha! Cleevar then walked in as casually as possible to the kitchen, holding his breath. Then he heard someone calling him. Was he imagining things? He continued his way, but soon heard it more clearly this time. Nope, I'm still sane, Cleevar humored himself. Hoping it was Taylor, he turned to the caller. "Hello Cleevar. Nice to meet you. Did you know there's work today?"

The voice belonged to the man who ran the inn. Tough luck.

"Yes, of course. I was erm…checking the chairs for…loose screws! They come off real easy. Did you know that?"

The innkeeper opened his mouth, but paused for a few seconds before he spoke.

"Oh good heavens you don't have to do all _that_. You working in the kitchen is enough. Leave the rest to me. Please."

That last word really seemed insincere, Cleevar thought.

"I hope to find you in the kitchen every time you work. Thank for _understanding." _

"Don't forget to put your apron on." The innkeeper reminded.

Yet another bad day. These days are getting harder and harder to get by, Cleevar noted.

"Hello everyone! Fine day isn't it?"

Almost everyone gave his or her greetings to the speaker instantaneously. For me, Cleevar corrected himself. He knew whose voice it was. Who else could it be? The man then reached the counter, wearing a hearty smile, and ordered a smoked talbuk venison. Quite an expensive dish it was. What luck, I'm preparing his dish, Cleevar griped mentally. Due to his 'appointment' with the paladin trainer, Cleevar had not had the time to have breakfast. And the lunch break is still hours away. Furthermore the older Smith is preparing a mouth-watering meal. Not for himself. The agony, a voice cried in his head.

He watched longingly at the aromatic meal as it was being lifted away by the waitress. One of the chefs, curious about his odd behavior and approached the dazed man.

"Hey, you alright? Have you had your breakfast? You look a bit pale, mate."

Cleevar shook his head mildly, saving precious energy.

From the pouch of his apron, he dug up a slice of bread and a chunk of cheese. Cleevar's eyes widened, alert this time. With one hand holding the food, he offered Cleevar.

"I always bring food with me. Keeps me going. Here, have them. Don't want you to faint now, customers are pourin' in fast."

Warmed by the friendly gesture, Cleevar summoned his waning energy to thank the chef.

"You're welcome. Finish it in the cellar, I'll cover for ya."

What a meal, Taylor thought. The succulent meat that laid on the plate a few minutes ago was now a gone. Only remnants of it remained; thick brown gravy and some greens, including peas, were left, cold and neglected. Utterly satisfied, he rubbed his belly in circular movements, warming it. I really have to hand it to the chefs, this is some meal, Taylor mused. With some resistance in the legs, he got up slowly and headed to his room. Time to work, Taylor reminded himself. Soon he was in his room, opening a cabinet which contained his working attire. Reminded of his recent achievements, he retrieved the contents of the wooden cabinet. Gears for combat lay strewn over his bed. Helmet, chestplate, leggings, gloves, wristguards all have to be orn on this assignment. This time, he was told, could involve him in combat. If he was not careful, of course. It was the first time he was sent on a mission which could endanger him. Hopefully it would end according to plan. For Taylor however, nothing ever seem to go according to plan. Feeling ready and a trifle bit nervous, he exited the room with armor all over his body, and headed down to the first floor.

At least I have someone to back me up, Cleevar consoled himself after finishing the bread and cheese offered by one of his fellow counterparts. He ascended the staircase to the kitchen, finding everyone working frantically. The older Smith wasted no time and continued his duties. After a while, someone called for the older Smith. Not wanting to waste more time, Cleevar rushed to the door to answer the call. It was Taylor.

"Hey, I'm off to work now"

"Where are you heading?"

"South of here, going to---"

"Cleevar, you done yet? More orders coming in."

"Can't talk much, lots of work to do. Be safe."

The armored man exited the inn, moving south of Goldshire. For many, people usually took the concrete path where troubles were rare. Pathways were like safe havens, sacred places where peace thrived. Beyond the roads carved by man, lies the domain of nature. Many large trees dominated small portions of the land claimed by nature, each of them having a territory of their own. Hardly trees are seen clumped together; each of them seemed to respect individual territories. Unlike trees, grasses are strewed all over the place, occupying all the space left by the lone trees. To many, the forest would seem like a peaceful paradise, devoid of aggression. However, behind the forest's tranquil façade, lay danger and uncertainty. Territorial bears, marauding wolves, venomous overgrown spiders,and menacing kobolds roam the forest freely. Not to mention members of the Defias prowling the forest floor, harming innocent by passers and raiding the homes of honest individuals. Taylor did not mind the animals; he believe it is their nature to be aggressive. The one that he detested was the unscrupulous Defias. To Taylor, they are a bunch of good-for-nothing rogues, bent on hindering the progress of righteous people. They claim that many do not understand them and are convinced that their cause it just. Their actions however contradict their statement. Taylor remembered his commanding officer telling him to watch out for them. His task was to scout and investigate a lone building by the river which segregated Elwynn Forest and Duskwood. It was suspected that illegal activities were ongoing around the area, and probably the Defias had its hand in it. Taylor recalled his commanding officer stressing that his mission was to investigate, not to engage any hostiles in combat. The younger Smith has been authorized to fight back or possibly kill aggressors, but it was strongly discouraged. Taylor grinned at the thought of a possible fight. It has been long since the life-threatening encounter with a certain rogue.

It had been a while since the start of the search. The armor he wore was becoming a burden than an advantage to him. In addition to the hefty guards he wore, Taylor was carrying a backpack. A backpack that was filled to the brim with equipments like compass, map, bandages and many other essentials. It had been a while now, and still he was trudging through the dense green foliage with no clue whatsoever where that place was. Soon discomfort found the younger Smith, making the trip more frustrating. The ground sometimes was soft and muddy, and his boots would submerge into the brown soil. Mud then would enter his boots, and how it was possible was beyond Taylor. The air was warm and humid. Sometimes thick roots from the thick trees threatened to trip him. Occasionally he would meet wolves; luckily for him they did not seem to like metallic prey. Taylor as sweating like a pig now; his armor functioned like a oven, the only difference was that there was no fire, but the heat was definitely present. Ignoring the military protocol, he removed his helmet and wiped off his perspiration, only to have his face covered with sweat once again. Eventually, he reached a bank of some river. Maybe it leads to something, Taylor hoped. Hot and exhausted, he settled down by the bank, reaching into his backpack to find something to quench his thirst.

"Whoa, what a day!" Cleevar commented.

"Ya, at least it's all over. Hopefully"

Then, someone said "Lunch break". Time for some fulfilling eats, Cleevar thought. Some exited the kitchen to have a breather. Cleevar was no exception. On his way out, a glint caught his eye. It came from something metallic. Upon closer inspection, it was a sword. What is a sword doing in here, Cleevar asked himself. Is that Taylor's? Oh great, he left it lying in the inn by the wall. Why no one had reported to the innkeeper about the misplaced item was a wonder. Cleevar reached for the hilt of the sword, lifting it. I should return it to Taylor, he would not be far, Cleevar thought. A voice then protested in his mind.

No, leave it. That will teach him a lesson, it added.

Another voice was quick to retort.

Hell no, just help your brother. Brothers look out for each other, it said primly.

Didn't you want to be more successful than him? This is your chance! And you don't have to lift a finger! Soon he will be punished by his officer for leaving his weapon around!

Is your pride more important than your kin?

His eyes continued to stare at the blade, standing rooted to ground.

I never thought the forest was this unforgiving, Taylor mused. Even under the shade from the willow tree could not protect him from the heat of the glaring sun. The river sparkled under the intense sunlight, illuminating the bank and the forest around it. It made the river look so bright, so full of hope. The crystal clear waters sometimes revealed its inhabitants; school of fish occasionally swam by, its reflective scales glimmering under the sunlight. Cattails flourished near the river bank and every once and a while insects like dragonflies and butterflies whizzed and fluttered around the river. Suddenly, amidst the stubborn long grasses and threatening twines, an oasis materialized before Taylor. Admittedly it was lukewarm, but the view was a feast for eyes. It was soothing for the ears too. Bugs, birds and the trees together composed a symphony, totally relaxing and new to the younger Smith. The river too joined in. The sound of the graceful flowing water was amazing. It was not until now that Taylor understood why some prefer to enjoy the little things in life. The water seemed cool, and it was tempting to just jump into it. A faint rustling disturbed the younger Smith's thoughts. Something was coming closer; the sound was getting more significant. Taylor got up in full alert, reaching for his shield and sword. He got his shield, but the sword however was nowhere to be found. Heck, the shield will do, Taylor assured himself.

Soon a man appeared out of the greenery. His hand carried a sword, a very familiar sword to Taylor.

"Cleevar?"

"You left your sword in the inn, you blockhead."

Cleevar shot out his armed hand, waiting for Taylor to take his sword.

"Thanks. How did you find me anyway?" questioned the younger Smith.

"It wasn't that hard. You practically bulldozed your way, leaving a conspicuous trail." "So what, your job is to find scenic places?" mocked Cleevar.

"Totally."

Another noise soon clashed with the music of the forest. It did not come from the forest this time. It came from the river. Paddling noises. And some soft voices could be heard. Taylor immediately motioned Cleevar to the back of the wide willow tree and signaled to him to be silent. Peaking from the side of the tree, the two Smiths saw a boat cruising above the crystal clear water. There were five men on board, four of them were paddling and seemed in a hurry to reach their destination. Each time an oar crashed into the serene river, inhabitants hid back into their tiny homes. All of them had a crimson cloth that masked their mouths and noses. "Defias." Taylor said softly in distaste.

The boat eventually reached a small quay where four of its passengers alighted. Using a coil of rope, the remaining crew tied the boat to one of the wooden poles that supported the dock. The deed was done in a matter of seconds. The four then headed to a lone building next to the quay, each of them scanning the quayside for unwanted company. Without any visible orders or prompts, two of the four men each took the sides of the entrance of the building, eyes peeled for any intruders. The other two entered the small house, still wary of their environment. Several armed members were patrolling the area. They too had vermillion masks on, revealing only alert eyes. In addition to their long swords, they carried tough brown armor that not only protected them from physical harm, but too helped them blend into the dense undergrowth that surrounded the place.

"Security looks tough."

"It won't be tough after I'm done with them." Taylor replied.

Cleevar's eyes widened at the prospect. Without even looking back at his brother, he continued.

"Relax, I'm not taking them head on. Not today anyways."

"Ok that's goo-WHAT?"

This time Taylor did not reply; they had been talking too much. And too loudly. The guards outside the house stopped dead at their tracks, ears eager to pick up more disturbances to confirm their suspicion. Upon seeing the guards reaction, Taylor turned to face Cleevar, giving him a 'look what you've done' look. The older Smith kept mum this time.

Time to map it out, Taylor thought. Retrieving a piece of paper and a rather sharp charcoal, he began drawing out the plan of the small Defias settlement. It did not take Taylor long to finish, and was quick to stash the items back into his backpack.

"A job well done, ha." Taylor commented softly.

"Really, but it doesn't seem like it."

"Yea, all thanks to you."

"Can we leave now?"

"Sure."

Soon the small Defias encampment was slowly being shrouded by the forest, fading away from their sight as the two Smiths headed for Goldshire. It was not long before they stopped. A faint but distinct disturbance could be heard. Cleevar gave his brother a questioning glance, oblivious of the situation. Taylor did not respond; he and his senses were busy trying to pick up further sounds and clues to confirm his suspicion. Other than the sounds of the forest, there was silence. It seemed whatever that caused the rustling of the leaves was now cautious and alert. Taylor passed his shield to his elder brother, leaving himself only with his stainless sword. The shield should protect him, Taylor assured himself. It could be a big bear, or a rabid wolf, or even a lost kobold. Taylor's eyes caught a glimpse of a red object, moving slowly across the dense forest. The crimson mask was a dead giveaway. Forgetting his officer's words, he closed in to his target slowly, hands firmly gripped on his weapon, ready to strike. His target saw Taylor at the last moment---using his blade, the Defias patrol sliced the air and the undergrowth, keeping Taylor at bay. Taylor parried the offensive effortlessly and tried a slash at the Defias member. The younger Smith's blade was long; the blade cut open the leather armor with ease, and seconds after, red blood oozed out. The injured Defias winced, his free hand falling instantly to attend the bleeding wound. The younger Smith grinned at the sight of his retreating opponent. It's a wonder how the Defias could actually prove to be a threat, Taylor humored himself mentally. Not wanting to finish off his outmatched enemy, he paced towards his target slowly, relishing his superiority over his wretched opponent. Unwilling to fall that easily, the Defias member charged towards Taylor, sword aimed at the younger Smith. Taylor swiped his sword to meet his attacker's blade, parrying and disarming him in the process. The determined Defias did not slow down in anyway and crashed onto his intended target. The unexpected collision threw Taylor's weapon off his hand and clattered on the ground. The two was soon on the ground, both unarmed. The Defias member was quick to recover first, and extracted a dagger from his one of his pockets, ready to continue his offensive. In haste, Taylor got up, balling his fists, ready to punish or to be punished.

A loud crack was heard. Taylor's eyes widened in astonishment as his attacker's head jerked forward slightly as though suffering an impact from behind. Legs of the Defias patrol refused to carry the body no longer, letting the body to crumple onto the forest floor with a thud.

"Why did you do that? That fight could have been mine!"

"You winning with your fists? Please. Anyways, now you've got a Defias that could be interrogated. Isn't that far more useful and humane?"

"Fine. Help me tie him up."

The trip back to Goldshire was a cumbersome one. Not to mention long, too. The two, now carrying a unconscious person, was walking even slower than before. Trudging through the thicket was bad enough; now Taylor and Cleevar had to carry someone potentially dangerous. Of course, neither of them could forget the hefty weight that came with it.

"You need not come all the way to bring me my sword, you know."

"I've reckoned you'll need it. Besides, if I hadn't come this man would have got you. You'll be killed or tied up and gagged like him now."

"I would have won with hands tied behind my back. I'm not that weak." Taylor proclaimed.

"Somehow I don't feel the same way. You should be thankful that I came. I missed my lunch break for you. Speaking of which, I'm famished. You got anything to eat in that bag of yours?"

"Hold on. Here, I have some jerky."

"I believe a thank you is in order."

"What? Isn't that jerky enough to show my undying gratitude?"

"Not good enough."

"Fine. Thank you for your concern."

"Still not very convincing. But I guess it'll do."

Then there was silence. Talking was more exhausting than the last time Taylor remembered. Cleevar wanted to concentrate on his food, so talking would definitely be tedious. It was not long before the view started to clear up. Trees grew less and less abundant and tall grasses were a rare sight. Suddenly, the forest was replaced by the pathways carved by civilization. Both of them never felt so relieved to see solid ground. No grass. Just hard, rocky ground.

"Hey. Thanks for the help."

"Didn't you do that already?"

Taylor ignored Cleevar's words and carried on.

"I've heard you approached a paladin trainer to be trained."

Cleevar hesitated a few moments, and then quickly replied as nonchalantly as possible.

"Yea, so what?"

"I can help you with that. Me and my recommendation should do it."

"You? That's a good one! Wait, you're being serious?"

"Well, do you want my help or what?"

"I didn't say no."

"Point taken."

* * *

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